


you brought colours into my life

by emmelinecarrow



Series: why we love (marvel soulmate aus) [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2018-11-29 20:05:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11448096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmelinecarrow/pseuds/emmelinecarrow
Summary: Inspired by the Tumblr promt, "see colour the first time you touch, and fades away when they die". Exploring different Marvel couples with this promt.colour au





	1. Tony Stark and Pepper Potts

"Next."

Tony was sick of these interviews. Sure, some of them were pretty hot, but none of them were worthy to be the assistant to the CEO of Stark Industries. They were all so pretentious. Take that Hannah girl for instance: gushing all over him and his inventions, not knowing an inkling on Stark Industries. Or that Lily: acting so nonchalant in a bid to stand out from the crowd.

They all wore the same thing to him. All black and white. He could not see colour, not yet, and he doubted he ever would. One hear stories of living forever in greys, never once touching their soulmate. He had long gave up finding his soulmate, and stuck to a routine of one night stands with strangers.

Tony was not looking for love when he demanded to do interviews personally. He was looking for a capable person who could assist him. But when a tall, slim woman entered his office, and shook his hand, he could see her _strawberry blonde_ hair, her impeccable _white_ suit, her six inched _black_ patent leather stacked heels, her _cherry red_ lips.

He blinked in surprise, more at the woman in front of him, than at his knowledge of colours despite never knowing them. Tony forced himself to stop staring, and glanced at the screen in front of him.

"Take a seat, Miss Potts."

***

"Virginia Potts."

Pepper heard her name called out by the receptionist. Smoothing out imaginary wrinkles on her suit, she stood up. Her heel caught on the woolen carpet. Howbeit, she regained her composure and strutted into the room.

This was her fifth interview in the same day, and every last one of them was the same. Same questions, same answers, same replies. She laid eyes on the infamous inventor, and saw what she expected: hubris and arrogance. She crossed the expansive marble floor. Extending a perfectly manicured hand, she shook his hand.

 _What warm brown eyes he has._ Wait. She could see his _dark brown_ hair, his _royal blue_ double breasted suit, his _cream_ and _blue_ striped tie, his _white_ silk shirt.

She caught his look of surprise, but assumed nothing. He might be her soulmate, but he was still her potential boss. Giving a small shake of her head, she took a seat in the _forest green_ leather club chair. Pepper tucked an ankle carefully behind another elegantly.

"Thank you, Mr Stark."


	2. Peggy Carter and Steve Rogers [Part 1]

"Shut it down!"

And they did not. To her relief, though, Steve made it, and for that, Peggy was glad.

She could see the bleakness of the environment, contrasting with the colorful situation they were stuck in. Peggy had agreed to marry Fred, even though she was fully aware they were not each other's soulmate. They shared the same view that the way they saw the world should not dictate who they should be with. So living in a world of greys, they got engaged, for they loved each other.

Who were they kidding? This system was in place for a reason. It came to no one as a surprise when she broke it off. But this did not mean that she would go around searching for her soulmate. She poured herself into the war effort.

The scrawny boy from Brooklyn came out, different in appearance, but same in heart. He was definitely taller, and a lot bigger. She reached out and touched him, briefly.

Later, she would blame it on the need to confirm that the person who stepped out was real, was Steve. But deep down, she wanted to test it, the possibility that they were soulmates.

For once, her hand was not a bland grey, but rather a colour she could not care to identify. The _dreamy blue_ of Steve's eyes were boring into hers, the _blonde_ hair he had, the _warm tone_ of his skin. It was overwhelming her. Peggy looked away.

"How do you feel?"

* * *

"No! Don't! I can do this!"

And he did, do this. Steve did go through whatever Project Rebirth was classified as. He finally found his purpose in life, not his soulmate, but something close enough. For years he had floated around, taking whatever was given to him, and trying to steal more.

He was a stark contrast to his best friend, but they worked well together, although they did not even know why. If you told Steve that he would be a part of something so important, so crucial, even a mere two weeks ago, he would never had believed you. But now, he was almost, _almost_ (damn it), a foot taller, and definitely more that twice the weight.

And all this because he was patriotic and wanted to do his part in the ongoing war.

Unlike Bucky, he never went from one girl to another to find his soulmate. Given his level of appeal, or lack thereof, he had long been resigned to the fate that no women would ever make body contact with him. He could not have been more wrong.

He stepped out of the module he was in, and was greeted promptly by Agent Carter. Unconsciously, it appeared to him, she reached out and touched him lightly. It appeared that the mere light touch was enough to trigger his photoreceptors.

The _chestnut brown_ of her perfectly styled hair, the _deep red_ of her lips, the _dark brown_ of her eyes, the _fairness_ of her skin. Steve would have seen the colours of her uniform if he had been able to take his eyes off her face.

"Taller."


	3. Phil Coulson and Melinda May [Part 1]

"Look, such a small girl in such a big place."

It was Melinda's first time in the campus gym. And the unkind remarks had started to fly, some over her head, some into. She rolled her eyes, their words as blank and bleak as her world. As a innocent, naïve child, fresh in the world, shielded from the horrors it contained, she would always dreamed of a world in bright colours.

Colours. A word she did not, could not even understand its fundamental meaning. But the thought of it? It was picture perfect to her younger self. But for now, she was content in her black and white and grey world.

The minute she had finished stretching, the moment her left foot touched the mat, a newbie, like her, challenged her to a spar. She took him out within seconds. Her day ruined, she left the gym.

Outside, she bumped into yet another guy. This one, she noted, was much shorter, eyes _bluer_ , skin _warmer_. Melinda mumbled a hurried apology and left. She might spent only a split second looking at him, but his image was already ingrained in he mind.

She was seven precise steps away from the gym when she was hit with realization. The colour had come at once upon contact, but its inherent meaning? It came seven precise steps away. She turned around.

"Sorry."

* * *

"They let nerds in now?"

The unkind remarks may have flew by, but Phil was a people person. This was not going to affect him. He turned down the invitation, from a guy named John, to go hang out. Instead, he beelined for the gym the moment he could.

He was a dreamer. Pragmatic, but still a dreamer. He dreamt of a world engulfed in vivid shades, scintillating and rich. He went to high school with hopes of ardour and passion. But alas, it was not to be. Still, he was barely into his adult years. Howbeit, he still had hopes.

He joined S.H.I.E.L.D without even thinking about colours.

He stood by the glass doors, peering in. There were people gathered around the centre of the large room. A gym mat was laid out and from the looks of it? A challenge was going on. He managed to get a glimpse of an Asian cadet, probably about his age, or younger, flipping over another recruit. But he was not focusing on the latter.

The former had hurried out of the gym, seemingly in annoyance. And in her eagerness to get away, she had walked right into him. Something muffled came out of those _rosy_  lips of hers. Her _chestnut brown_  eyes bored into his for a split second before she turned to leave, leaving him to frown at her peculiar behavior.

The gym had returned to the state of buzz it had been in previously. He was twelve seconds into his stretching when he was hit with realization. The colour had come at once upon contact, but its inherent meaning? It came twelve seconds later. He stopped moving.

"Oh god."


	4. Peggy Carter and Steve Rogers [Part 2]

"I- I'll get Howard on the phone, he will know what to do."

Instantly, her heart broke into various fragments, fragments that she would spend the rest of her life picking up. Peggy would build herself back up, but for now, just surviving would have to make do.

She did not notice it at first, but her world was slowing turning into blacks and greys and a little something else. It started with something as small as having the colour of her green blouse turning a subtle shade of light grey. Peggy had shook her head and blamed it on her age. Then it got worse.

Her colour coded way of arrangement was indecipherable. Almost. There were still some colours, if deep enough, she could see. Her cherry red lipstick was still very red, thank you very much.

Ironically, the colours that were mostly visible were colours of the American flag, colours of the Captain America, colours of Steve. Reds and blues and whites mingled with blacks and greys, giving Peggy a constant headache.

Peggy had never heard a definite, standardized version of what would happen if one's soulmate passed. They were always whispers your hear in the streets, passing from a pair of lips to eager ears.

She had had been extremely hopeful at first, predicting accurately that her ability to see certain colours meant that Steve was not yet dead. But as the years passed, she moved on. Peggy would had seen reds and blues and whites and blacks and greys on her wedding day.

"I do."

* * *

"She's gone. In her sleep."

The feeling came before the colours vanished. The text came not long after. It had felt as though air was sucked out of him, taking whatever was left in him life with it, but Steve kept his composure as much as he possibly could.

What with the Sokovia Accords, he could not think well, could not mourn well, could not breathe well. He had spent most of his close-to-one-century life with perfect, coloured vision. And now, in mere seconds, it was all gone.

In the world of blacks and greys, Steve could not see the orange of gunshots, nor the blue of water. The serenity he once found in just looking around him, all gone. The colours of his own damned uniform were indecipherable.

He did his best to not let this affect his feelings and decisions made during what the media termed as "Civil War". He did not know if anyone noticed, but honestly, he did not care. Steve had never let anyone get in his way.

Focused on his views of the Accords, and protecting Bucky, he managed to ignore how different his world was. Miraculously, he managed to be able to colour coordinate. Or maybe not all the people around him had found their soulmates.

Time it took, for him to get used to the changed world. Time was needed, for him to heal. But time, he did not have. Steve had to focus, focus on being the best version of him.

"So no matter what, I promise you, if you need us, if you need me, I'll be there."


	5. Leopold Fitz and Jemma Simmons

"Such a obsequious, teacher's pet."

 

She actually understood their sentiments; way younger than any of them, Jemma had never managed to blend in when she was meant to stand out. So stood out, she did.

 

Equipped with two PhDs, she had applied for the S.H.I.E.L.D Academy of Science and Technology; mistakenly applied for, she sometimes felt. She was not cut out for this whole secret agent thing, Jemma thought often. Even then, she never had it in her to pull out, to quit.

 

Seated in the large auditorium, sure felt more alone than ever, rereading the notes that she had prepared. Some high level agent was supposed to give them a speech, a certain Agent Hill, but she was not here yet. She would have colour coded her notes, but all she saw was bleakness and emptiness in her vision.

 

As a scientist, she had always believed that there was a, well, *scientific* explanation to the whole soulmate colour thing. But she had never found a proper explanation (read: proper = something that she was satisfied with). There were all but one type of explanation: magic (but since magic was just science that was not yet understood, there was no actual explanation). For centuries, scientists had been trying to understand this complexity; Jemma would have followed in their footsteps, had she not felt that there was more she could do, other than chasing what seemed to be a lost cost.

 

Ever since joining S.H.I.E.L.D, even if she was not an agent yet, not technically anyway, she had kind of given up searching for an answer, let alone her soulmate (she would still dream about a coloured vision, during long nights, not that she would ever admit it). Someone had just grabbed her hand (well the arm rest was probably the goal, but her hand was on the arm rest), jerking her out of her thoughts.

 

Jemma raised her head to see a young man in front of her, trying to squeeze his way through the tightly packed seats. His _dark brown_ hair was curly and messy. A _red_ vest was worn over a _cream_ shirt, finished off with a simple _navy blue_ tie. Before she could register his matching pants, he turned around and offered an apologetic smile. His _brown_ eyes seemed to pour its soul in her, before he turned abruptly. Her vision was _coloured_.

 

"I'm fine, really. It's no big deal."

 

* * *

 

"Now look, is this not that monkey - wanting smart ass?"

 

He did his best not to roll his eyes at them. Sure, he was at Sci-Tech, where there were no running tracks or gyms, but Fitz was still sure that any one of the older guys could still kill him. Groaning internally, he continued about his way.

 

What did these people had against monkeys, anyway? In theory, they could work, if given the chance, but that did not seem likely. If there were dwarves, Fitz would try to convince one of them to stand in, but in this world, there were no such creature.

 

As he tried to hold onto the huge arch file that was under his arm, while running towards the auditorium, he hoped against hope that he had taken the right file. He had not had the chance to label those ridiculous, same coloured files. During such moments, he cursed at his soulmate for not materializing. If he had colour in his vision, he would not have to suffer from the fate of taking the wrong item.

 

Fitz had long since gave up his idea of creating glasses, contact lenses, goggles, or something that would enable those who had not yet met their soulmate to see colour. In theory, that would mean simulating whatever it was that soulmates could do to each other to trigger their ability to see colour. It sounded simple, but he would have to find out what that something was.

 

Not one to give up so easily, Fitz convinced himself that he could always go back to this, after someone had found out what that something was. He struggled to open the door to the auditorium with his file in one hand, but managed anyway, letting out a sigh of relief. But this relief was short lived. The auditorium was nearly full. Heck the only seat left was right in the middle of the third row. Shaking his head and cursing under his breath, Fitz attempted to make his way through. All was well until he lost his balance.

 

He tried to grab the nearest arm rest, but grabbed someone's hand instead. He looked up to apologize, but instead, saw the most beautiful girl he had ever met, with the dreamiest _brown_ eyes, and matching _light brown_ hair. Her _white_ flannel was paired with _denim blue_ jeans. His vision was _coloured_.

 

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean it. Are you okay?"


	6. Phil Coulson and Melinda May [Part Two]

"This is big, real big. I will tell you all about it when I get back. Promise."

She did not even reply. Not in the verbal way, anyway, just with a curt nod, and a stern look. But it conveyed everything. _Stay safe._ That was the last of him she saw. Melinda felt it before the news came.

After being ordered to head home (read: the apartment she had been using since Bahrain, but still did not feel like home), to avoid New York at all costs, to stay safe, she had taken her time to heat up some leftover mac and cheese, followed by pushing those warm yellow little things around. In the next moment, they were not so yellow anymore.

Before she could react, Melinda was pushed forward by an unseen force, the bowl and fork clattering onto the floor. Her lungs were struggling to function without oxygen, her heart pumping blood to her motionless body, her head splitting, her vision dulled. Just a moment ago, she could have confirmed that her table was a dark, chocolatey brown. It appeared more grey than ever.

She willed herself to stand, but found herself crumbling to the floor instead, tears she did not even know she was capable to generating flowing freely down her face. Despite that, she did not cry. Wiping the tears off her face, Melinda tried not to think about all the times she could have told him (about her feelings, though she would never admit it).

For the next three months, Melinda dealt with the paperwork that was the aftermath of the Battle of New York, albeit monotonously. No one in administration knew why she was more cold than ever, they assumed it was because she lost her best friend, but it was so much more.

The day the phone call came was also the first day she had woken up without a nightmare. Shortly after brushing her teeth, a familiar sound rang out. She was not sure which came first, joy or anger, but it was mostly fear. Fear of what it would mean for them. She remembered shouting at Fury in that wretched operation room, Coulson but a few feet from her. She refused to touch the motionless body, not wanting to know what would happen, at least not until he was awake.

"Why would you do something so horrendous to him?"

* * *

"The CDC's at a dead end. Unless we take some kind of drastic measure, we'll lose her."

That did not sound particularly optimistic, seeing as it came from Simmons. Maybe if it was some other doctor who told him, he would have doubted them. But this was Simmons, the biochemist who had been with him since a time that felt so long ago. And Phil trusted her.

 _Come on May, fight this._ She was a fighter, she had to fight it, whatever it was. Meanwhile, he had a job to do. Some Watchdogs had been able to cause a power outage in Miami, and it was there when it happened. Colour started fading out of his vision. It was so slow that Phil had not been able to pinpoint when it started.

He only noticed it when the whole thing EMP ordeal in Miami was dealt with. He only noticed it when there was no need to solve a crisis. He only noticed it when he allowed himself to remember what could possibly happen to her. And in that moment, he panicked.

The eyes he saw in his reflection was no longer blue, the depth in them was gone, vanquished like an unworthy opponent. His surroundings was greys and blacks, bleak and bland. The world became so flat and dull, the details diminished.

Phil tried, and failed, to convince himself that the reason why he did not notice the change was not because he did not care for her enough, not because he did not lo- no, he would not admit it. She probably did not feel the same way.

Then, the phone call came. He always knew he could trust Jemma. But to actually kill and save a person? That was not something even two PhDs could help with. The relief, and pure joy, that he felt came first He should probably start a 'died and revived' club. Then came the disgust. He knew what it felt like to, well, die. He knew the horrors it came with. _No, it was different. She did not get any GH 325._ And in that moment, he felt relief.

"Thank you Sim- no, I don't care that you kil- you saved her Jemma."


	7. Phil Coulson and Melinda May [Part 3]

"You won't believe what happened during the mission."

He had just come back from some far flung place, probably somewhere in Asia, and he was already rambling on about what she was sure was classified information. In the office that she shared with three other agents. Who were definitely of a lower clearance level than her. Melinda still could not understand how he was not stripped of his level eight clearance yet.

It has been a good six months since his resurrection, and she had been actively avoiding him. Not that he had noticed. She had been like this since what seemed like forever. It had been a good six months since she had not had colour in her life, and goddammit, was it annoying.

There were days where she would get weird, judgemental stares from people who, unlike her, had colour in her vision. Melinda could honestly care less, but she knew it was probably because she paired the wrong colours together. Most of her stuff were black, but there was the occasional splash of colour that she could not identify. Mostly, however, she had gotten used to it. Life without colour was fine, so long as Phil was _alive_.

She nodded her head absently to his monologue, vaguely aware of his presence. Sitting in front of a desk for eight hours, doing administrative work no less, was not really her thing. Her back was aching and she could not remember the last time she stepped into a gym (probably a week, ago, god, was she out of shape).

She cleared up the last of her things, putting foulder after foulder into their respective trays. Everyone else had already packed up and left. Melinda liked the peace of being alone, but there was someone else with her. It was not unwelcome, although she would never have admitted it.

Pushing in her chair, her hand brushed Phil's. It was the first body contact they had since his ungodly resurrection, not that she had noticed. No, she was focused on the _blue_  of his eyes, the _warmth_ of his skin. It took every little drip of willpower in her to not just hang onto him and never let go.

"You're leaving? See you tomorrow then, May."

* * *

"I don't know what to do without you."

She would have woken up at that, but Simmons had fed her painkillers- secretly, of course. She would never let herself become vulnerable, at least not willingly. But he did not need her to hear that, she would know.

The whole EMP crap had ended, and he had slipped off to Radcliffe's place, where he noticed two things: one, either he was *really* good sneaking in or two, someone had expected him to come and reduced security. Phil had found her asleep. He stood by the door for a moment, mesmerized; it was rare to see her so unguarded, and beautifully calm, serene even.

It pained him that he could no longer see the colour of his world, _their_ world, but never mind that. She was _alive_ , and that was all that mattered. It had only been a few hours, at most, but it felt like a decade had already passed; Phil could barely remember colour.

The rest had not said anything, if they had noticed something amiss with him on their way back to base. He was hoping that no one would notice his absence, and if they did, that they would cover for him. Forget about Mace, he needed to be elsewhere. The Director could wait.

He invited himself in and sat on a chair next to the bed. This was the umpteenth time he had almost lost her, for good. He shuddered at the thought of a world without May. He was not joking about not knowing what to do without her. Indeed, she was the guiding light in his life, to say the least.

Hearing the door open elsewhere, the sign that Radcliffe was back, Phil stood up quickly. He was about to leave when he rushed back to the bed, and hurriedly, planted a kiss on her forehead. He was already outside the building when he noticed the _blue_ sky and _white_ clouds. It took every little drip of willpower in him to not just rush back to her side and never leave.

"She's alive, she's alive, she's alive."


	8. Skye / Daisy Johnson and Lincoln Campbell [Part 1]

"Gordon, help."

Her hands alone could simulate the shifts in tectonic plates. Converging, diverging, slipping past each other because they could not hold the tensions any longer. Skye was a walking earthquake, what was new? The only regret she had was that she could not create mountains or deep ocean trenches, rift valleys or volcanos. Stratovolcanos would be cool, but what Skye wanted was shield volcanos, just for the sake of irony.

Digging out past geography lessons from years long gone was the only thing she could do to distract herself. She did it so much that she even dreamt about it. The safe house, May's call, nearly killing Bobbi and that other guy, Gordon, it was all too much. She wanted to keep her eyes closed forever, but Skye was becoming painfully aware of something, many things, pricking at her skin.

Willing herself to stop procrastinating, she opened her eyes, albeit reluctantly, suddenly. The first thing she noticed was the odd _white_ things she was wearing; the second, the _warm orange_ glow of the candles; the third, the _off black_ shirt Gordon was wearing. Wait, Gordon was not her soulmate, right?

To her relief (sorry, Gordon), there was someone else with them, her soulmate, her thankfully hot soulmate. This Lincoln, her transitioner, her soulmate, her current source of annoyance, was not helping with her situation at all.

Her mind was a mess: why would May have called her if something serious had not happened? Why were there so much _red_ in the room? Where exactly was she? Confused, she wanted to look to Lincoln for help, for clarification, but he dumped a load of useless information on her. And reminded her of the one thing she wanted to forget.

"You're the one that's in danger, Skye. Remember? You're being hunted."

* * *

"She called- said she was in trouble- could you just transition her now?"

Gordon had just appeared right in front of him and his perfect evening. He had no work that night, so obviously, Gordon had to come and give him some. Lincoln had heard much about this Skye. A S.H.I.E.L.D agent, of all things. Gordon seemed to have taken a liking to her.

He knew she was caught in the same mist as Raina, although that was a story he would probably not get to hear. And now, here she was, right in front of him. She looked so tranquil, with her eyes closed. There was something about the woman that caused him to be unable to stop staring. Heck, he could just stare at her all day, but there was too much work to be done. She was too late in starting her transition.

Some of the female transitioners had removed her clothes and replaced them with those cloths that Jiaying insisted they use. He had paced outside the room impatiently, eager to start her transition as soon as possible. Who would know what would happen to her if he started too late?

Barely aware that the teleporter had left, he set to work the moment he was allowed in. He took out all the acupuncture needles he had and started putting them on her, one by one, all the while hoping that she was not afraid of needles, and that she would not rip them all out the moment she awoke. His fingers brushed ever so lightly against her skin, when he was done.

Suddenly aware of the _brown_ of her skin, the _stark white_ her clothes and the sheets, Lincoln tried not to panic. He looked down at himself, and saw nothing but the _maroon_ of his shirt and _black_ of his pants. The rest of the two days she was asleep was pure torture. Not that it got any better when she woke.

"You're healing. Leaving now wouldn't exactly be... You've ever made microwave popcorn? Leave them too long and it's charcoal, take them out too soon and it's a bag of kernels."


End file.
